Hornbill Festival: A Modern Spectacle For Wider Entertainment, Drifting From Its Origins

The alleged shooting of a hornbill in Phek, Nagaland, on December 4 happened at the very moment the state was celebrating its annual Hornbill Festival in Kisama, Kohima. A festival named after a bird, whose existence is already rare and protected, yet continues to be hunted—this situation reflects a larger irony in the path the festival is taking, drifting considerably from its original aim of celebrating the history, tradition, and culture of the Nagas.

For the uninitiated, the Hornbill Festival is perhaps the most internationally recognised festival of the state. Celebrated from December 1 to 10 every year, it started in 2000 and has since become the most anticipated annual gathering. Organised by the Department of Tourism and the Department of Art & Culture, the 10-day festival typically features indigenous performances, Naga tribal food, crafts, arts, games, dances, and more. Every Naga tribe participates, with each having its own designated space or morung. The festival originally emerged with the specific intention of promoting inter-ethnic interaction and preserving the cultural heritage of the Nagas.

This year’s festival also comes right after the highly publicised students’ protest in November, against the government’s failure to release the annual post-matric scholarships for the undergraduate college students of Nagaland. During these protests, college students from across the state and unions like the Combined Technical Association of Nagaland (CTAN) expressed their loss of faith in the state’s administration. Chief Minister Neiphiu Rio, while interacting with the local media outlet Dimapur 24/7, responded to the scholarship issue saying, “Nobody is perfect. Nagaland is a backward state. We are struggling because of resources.” As a matter of fact, the Dimapur Municipal Council sanitation workers are currently protesting the non-payment of their three-month salary, and they have suspended their work as part of the protest. These are only a few of the immediate issues that are now public; there are many more like them. On the other hand is the Hornbill Festival, which is an expensive event worth crores of rupees, and its celebration amidst students’ struggle to receive their rightful scholarships or the non-payment of workers’ salaries starkly reveals a modern Nagaland, where the fight for basic rights and the extravagance of a government-funded festival co-exist without accountability.

Since the festival opened on December 1, social media has exploded with reels, posts, and videos. Flocks of vloggers with their cameras are capturing almost every corner of the Hornbill Festival. In one such online post, someone commented that the current nature of the celebration is deeply concerning. In its early years, the festival was rooted in promoting Naga cultural heritage; however, in recent years, it has leaned towards an obsession with broader tourist attractions. When the festival’s entire branding is built on showcasing Naga identity, tradition, and culture, this shift becomes even more evident. It is increasingly becoming a pop-culture gathering, where indigenous singers perform Hindi film songs like “Sooraj Dooba” from Roy (2015) and “Ghungroo Toot Gaye” from War (2019). While many in the younger generation react with excitement, others argue that these performances subtly overshadow what the festival actually stands for—Naga heritage. And it is not just Hindi songs; local performers are now singing Western pop songs as well. So, the festival is increasingly operating on influences that are not part of Naga culture.

The issue is not the songs or the performers; these are widely popular across regions. The concern lies in how one negotiates these spectacles with what the Hornbill Festival is meant to promote. Some attendees shared how disturbing it is to witness the direction the festival is taking. One commented that people no longer seem to care about the culture, citing how a South Indian tourist (a man) was wearing a traditional Naga woman’s headgear inside one of the tribe’s morungs. Even after being informed that it is meant for women, he ignored it and continued wearing it. They argue that this is not a simple act of trying on traditional attire out of excitement; it can send the wrong message, that anyone can wear it, or worse, that it is meant for men. In the same way, the festival in its current form risks giving foreign tourists the impression that Hindi film songs and English pop songs are an equal component of Naga history or heritage.

A Naga student who studied at a premiere university in New Delhi shared how, in the past, Northeast students organised a photoshoot in their college, where everyone turned up wearing outfits not from a single tribe, but an amalgamation of different tribes; for example, a Garo mekhala paired with a Sumi woman’s headgear. Even when corrected, some insisted on wearing them that way. While it may appear harmless, when placed among non-Northeasterners, such choices, by Nagas or Northeast people, easily create a false impression of what a tribe’s attire actually is. The concern, therefore, lies in the larger circulation of how one’s tradition, culture, and practices are produced and consumed by others. As one person commented, the festival is now trying to cater to a broader audience instead of continuing its role as a platform for promoting Naga culture. Another widely shared video reflects the broader impact of such misrepresentation: a hilarious collage of children supposedly showcasing Naga culture, dressed in what is claimed to be Naga tribal attire. Not only are their outfits not Naga, but they carry bamboo spears and sing “Jhinga Lala ho ho, Jhinga Lala ho ho” as they dance. These are natural ways in which people absorb information—they accept what is shown, especially when it concerns something as personal and sensitive as tradition, identity, and culture. Therefore, what is staged at a festival like this becomes a significant site for circulating Naga culture, whether accurate or not.

The festival is no longer only a showcase of one region’s heritage but is now assimilating different cultures; the Japanese group performance is one example, or more urban activities like dog shows etc. It is curious to see where the festival is heading: the older it gets, the farther it seems to drift from what it is meant to do. There is a strong effort to turn it into a world-class event, engaging with different countries and drawing attention from foreign tourists, vloggers, news agencies and national media. When any festival is curated in such a way, it inevitably attempts to make everyone find it relatable and familiar, because it mirrors what everyone else is doing. In doing so, it loses its uniqueness, becoming a profitable enterprise that takes pride in attracting high numbers of foreign visitors. But the Hornbill Festival is not meant to cater to everyone who attends; it is not meant to be palatable to the mainland. It is meant to introduce, showcase, and celebrate Naga heritage, so that others learn and know about Nagas. But this recent attempt to cater to a broader audience ultimately defeats the festival’s own merit in terms of its origins.

Akishe L. Jakha is a Film and Media scholar from Nagaland, specializing in popular cinema and regional cinematic culture.